A Brother's Hate
by In The Arms Of A Stranger
Summary: From out of the darkness a voice reached out, the low baritone drawl raising an octave in excitement. "And to think I was just expecting some worthless little pissant travelers" Sandor's fingers felt numb upon his sword's hilt, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened upon the familiar steel handle. Of all the people to meet in a dark forest..


**Title: **A Brother's Hate

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this piece of work.

**Rating: **M

**Warning(s): **Character death, Gore.

**A Brother's Hate**

There was something comforting about the dead of night and the blinding darkness that followed in its wake. Perhaps it was the fleeting sanctuary that the night offered from the accusing light of the day, the blackness seeping into every corner of the land until all was lost beneath the heavy cover of nightfall. Even the scouring eyes would take rest in their search for those who opposed the 'great and powerful' Joffery, allowing for the petty fears of a monster to fall silent for another moons gracing. Yes, the night was a sweet blessing and not to be taken for granted.

The world was a dangerous place after all, and seemed to grow more so with each passing day. Dragons? Magic? Walkers….

It didn't take a madman to understand that despite the hilarity of such rumors, something was clearly beginning to take place. And whatever the bigger picture turned out to be, it would be wise to enjoy the last days of acceptable violence while they lasted. To look forward to the blood drenched days and visionless nights until finally, the pieces would connect themselves together and allow for what was certainly to be hell, to deliver itself to Westeros.

Yes, the night was a time to be treasured and desired, the falling of the sun leaving a reminder that despite the hardships of living, another day had been survived. It wasn't much to look forward to, but it was still a godsend in itself.

You have survived another day and outlived those who were too weak to do so. Good job.

So why someone would want to disturb the temporary reign of darkness was absurd in itself. And yet…

"Its just a small fire! No one will even see it!" And yet this little wisp of a girl wanted nothing more than to destroy the darkness that the night had so painstakingly created, the tiny pile of smoldering twigs and rotten leaves beginning to cast a faint glow upon the empty clearing as they caught fire, allowing for the tiny flicker of flames to grow into a small crackling inferno. Where in the hell she had gotten the flint was beyond him…

"Put. It. Out." There was no real use arguing with the little chit, or even explaining himself. She knew better but like an unruly child, was simply acting out in anger. Attempting to take out her pain and self-horror on someone she had foolishly labeled as a safe recipient, the events of the endless last few days still weighing heavily upon her mind, the loss of her loved ones and the taking of her first life mixing together in a painful concoction of self pity and hate.

"We have been walking around these damn woods in the dark for days now..." Arya pause mid-sentence, hooded eyes peering over the reaching flames of the roaring fire, the once curious gaze replaced with an impressive little glare "And if you so much as touch my fire…" Allowing the silence to again take over, she let the unfinished threat hang in the air, heavy eyes gazing unwaveringly into the lapping flames.

Other than allowing a small grunt of displeasure to part his lips, Sandor remained leaning upon the tree he had slumped himself against, occasionally scooting unseenly away from the now impressive little fire that lit up their empty clearing. Many men had outright laughed at his childhood fear of the flame, taking great joy in knowing that despite his reputation, someone as feared as the Hound could practically become a coward when faced with his well-known weakness.

Far too often would he hear the story of his disfigurement retold beneath hushed voices, regaling the people with a past he so yearned to forget. But really, how could he forget the feel of the flame as it fakes across his face, when the cause of his torment still gazed upon him with such disapproval upon every unfortunate meeting. It was hard to believe that despite the horrors he had caused… his brothers shadow would forever tower over him.

What good was a dog up against a mountain?

Shoulder slumping forward, Sandor tentatively ran his fingers along the length of his jaw, cringing as the stubbly flesh gave way to a hardened layer of damaged skin, the flesh rough and raised beneath his calloused fingertips, forming deep indented grooves that decorated the side of his face and trailed up into his high hairline, the hair follicles remaining dormant beneath his extensive scars. One day…

"Did you hear something?" Arya peered into the darkness that outreached the glow of her fire, her head turning every which way as she squinted and blinked, willing the night to obey her desire for sight.

Unsurprisingly, her demands fell upon deaf ears.

"There.. did you hear it that time?" Hand grasping at the hilt of his sword, Sandor hefted himself up to his feet. With his head bobbing from side to side, he strained to hear anything over the crackle of the flame and the howling of the chilling wind, the pounding of his own heart pulsing loudly in the base of his skull. But there it was…. the faint crunch of dried leaves beneath heavy footfalls, the practically non existent sound growing steadily louder of the steps grew closer, no doubt attracted by the glow of the damn fire.

That fucking fire….

From out of the darkness a voice reached out, the low baritone drawl raising an octave in excitement. "And to think, I was just expecting some worthless little pissant travelers" Sandor's fingers felt numb upon his sword's hilt, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened upon the familiar steel handle, the blood rushing from out of his clenched digits. Of all the people to meet in a dark forest..

"How wrong I was! To think I would come across my deserter little brother and some underage child. I am not one to judge, but I think she may be a bit too young for you, brother." While many may have found Sandor intimidating, when compared to his brother, Gregor's height alone was enough to pull attention away from the scarred younger brother. And being already of impressive height himself, Sandor seemed almost miniscule against his brothers mammoth height, the older Clegane brother easily topping eight feet tall, the thick layering of chainmail armor helping to accentuate his muscular frame. It was no wonder the people had nicknamed him 'The mountain'.

Pulling his sword free from its scabbard, Sandor let the blood encrusted blade hang loosely at his side, the nicked tip just brushing against the ground. "Gregor, my brother" He nodded his head in an unsure welcome, "Should you not be doing something more worthy of your time, instead of looking for travelers in the forest? Perhaps killing a newborn child, or licking the heel of your Lords boots?"

Gregor's jaw rolled forward at that, lips thinning in distaste.

"What of you brother? I see you traded your child king for a breastless little wench. Perhaps that fire did more than melt your face.." Gregor laughed heartily at his own wit and lazily unsheathed his sword, the bulky blade held out before him with the utmost of ease, the weight barely even registering.

"Girl." At Sandor's call, Arya peered out from behind the tree she had taken refuge behind, her face smeared with streaks of dirt and her hair a nest of captured twigs and leaves. Hiking his finger at the tree she hid behind, he uttered a simple, "Climb".

The word barely managing to part from his lips before his brother was upon him, a spark glinting into existence as metal struck metal, Gregor's heavy blade bashing into Sandors with the power of a giant.

Not needing to be told twice, Arya clamored up the trees thick trunk and vanished within the leaf bearing limbs.

Perhaps at one time; before the disfigurement of his face, Sandor might have found the current situation oddly charming. Fighting with his brother by the glow of a fire, staking one's honor on the metal you wielded. Yes, that sounded like something a fool would sing about…

Pushed back by the weight of his brother swing, Sandor let his sword drop and drag Gregors with it, the screech of metal ringing shrilly through the clearing as their blades scraped together. Sidestepping as Gregor rushed forward to check him, Sandor put some much needed distance between and his brother and himself, the fire looming threateningly between them.

Trading his weapon from one hand to the other, Gregor gave his sword a threatening strike, the blade humming as it cut through the air with an audible noise, the well polished steel glinting in the fires glow. "To think!" Gregor began without warning, his musing halted as he lunged forward, leaping overtop the fire to clash his sword against Sandor's. The scarred brother stumbled back beneath the heavy blow, hands shaking as the mounting pressure bared down upon his defensively outstretched blade, forcing the hilt of his sword to press against his chest.

With each step back that Sandor took, Gregor pressed forward, tightly following in his brothers retreat until Sandor bumped into the same tree Arya had taken residence in, the rough bark biting into the metal plating that decorated his chainmail armor. With his sword wielding arm trapped against his chest and his brothers blade attempting to make itself acquainted with his throat, there was not much Sandor could do at the moment, helplessly trapped between his brother and the tree his pint-sized captive hid in.

"To think," Gregor rekindled his paused musing, bicep flexing as he pressed harshly down upon his sword, a grin overtaking his lips as the polished steel began to dig into the flesh that peeked overtop of Sandor's chainmail. "To think! Mother, father… and even our sister… with your head, I will be the sole cause of my own families demise." Gregor laughed deeply to himself, as if his confession was no more than a casually thrown out joke, and not the admittance to what Sandor had always suspected but been unable to prove.

Blood bubbled up around the blade that bared down upon his exposed throat, the well kept steel beginning to slowly sink its way through the meat of his neck, streams of crimson sliding wetly down his throat and soaking into his armor. Heart beating frantically in his chest, Sandor bit down upon the inside of his cheek to stiffen the cry of pain that fought to be heard, the metallic taste of his own blood filling his mouth as his teeth pierced the flesh. So what if he could no longer remember the faces of his parents…

For their wasted lives, he would still try.

With what strength he could muster, Sandor jerked the handle of his sword from against his chest, the sudden show of strength catching his brother momentarily off guard. With the handle of his sword no longer nestled into his chest, the newly slanted angle of the blade allowed for him to wrench Gregor's sword away from his bloodied throat, leaving him with a gaping; though manageable, wound. With the heavy blade no longer pinning him to the tree, Sandor again tried to distance himself from his brother, metal sliding against metal as he slipped out from under his brothers heated gaze, Gregors massive blade striking against the tree with a hollow thud.

Ignoring the pain that radiated from his sliced throat, Sandor squared himself in front of Arya's fire, eyes remaining strictly forward as he denied the presence of his fear raging silently behind his back. With a hard tug of his sword, Gregor pulled the bulky weapon from the trees weather beaten hide, the once pristine trunk marred with a deep angry gash, the trees healthy green core exposed to the worsening elements of nature.

With his sword raised above his head in preparation, Gregor's intended strike was met with quick resistance, Sandor's blade clashing soundly with his own, their swords pitted against each other in a barbaric test of strength. A fight Gregor seemed likely to dominate. And with each clattering blow of their swords, Sandor slowly felt himself being forced back beneath his brothers strength, the fire licking at the heels of his boots and blackening the chainmail that shielded the back of his calfs.

"King Robert won't be able to save you this time, brother!" Relying solely on his brute strength, Gregor wielded his sword like one would a club, choosing to bash away at his brothers raised blade rather than take aim at his exposed middle. There was no time for fancy sword-work during a battle, it was all about who could hit the hardest and eventually get past the opponents guard. Trying to wield a sword like a foolish court jester would do nothing more than quicken a person's eventual demise.

"Funny, thats exactly what I was thinking!" Using his smaller stature in his favor, Sandor let the hilt of his blade slip from between his fingers. With the loss of a solid mass to press against, Gregors blade sailed over Sandors ducked head, knocking his released sword fully across the length of the clearing. Taken by surprise, Gregors body continued to move forward, following the momentum of his swords swing until it was far too late to act, Sandors free arms finding purchase around his waist.

Throwing his weight into his brothers center, the two dropped to the ground with a graceless grunt, Sandors knees planted firmly on each side of Gregors burly chest, his hands gripping firmly at his wrists. He pressed his thumbs into the gap of space where chainmail met leather, fingers sinking into the exposed flesh until tiny drops of crimson foamed up around his dirtied nails. Again and again he thrusted his brothers captured hands to the floor, forcing the once tightly clasped blade to clatter out of his flailed hands, leaving the brothers equally disarmed.

A beastly cry parted itself from Gregors dried lips, his hands surging forward to grasp at Sandors upper arms, massive meaty paws wrapping fully around the thick bicep. Despite the heavy weight of his armor clad brother kneeling overtop of him, Gregor jerked his body violently to one side, arms working to both pull and push Sandor from off of him, allowing their position to be reversed as they toppled to one side, Sandors back meeting the ground with a heavy thump.

Instinctively, Gregors hands found themselves wrapped around Sandors wounded throat, a fresh coating of blood spilling out of the recently inflicted wound. Tighter and tighter he squeezed, his fingers molding into the hardened flesh until he felt Sandors adams apple quiver against his palms, the ball of cartilage staining under the increasing pressure. A deep grumble of excitement formed in the back of Gregors throat, his eyes staring wildly down at his younger brother, numb to the feeling of Sandor's fingers tearing at his hands, attempting to escape from the grasp that was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

"Thats right brother. Just die. Die already." Gregor shook his brother like a rag-doll, repeatedly bashing the back of his head against the ground, the dirt giving way until it formed an imprint of the back of Sandors head.

Desperately Sandor clawed at his brothers tightly grasped fingers, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head as the lack of air pushed him to the brink of unconsciousness, the low murmur of "Die. Die. Die" his brother whispered, barely registering in his darkening mind. Fingers quivering weakly against Gregors unforgiving hold, Sandor blindly reached forward.

His touch grazed his brothers thick muscular throat and then rose to finger the sharp curve of his chin, the stubble coated flesh grinding into his fingertips. Upwards his fingers wandered, unseeing eyes staring up at the gleeful face of his brother, the world beginning to flicker out of reality, unconsciousness beckoning him into its tender embrace. But no… that would not do.

At last his fingers completed their trek, his thumbs cocking as he roughly jabbed them into his brothers wide eyes, a startled cry of pain breaking Gregor out of his self-induced stupor, putting a stop to the "Die. Die. Die." mantra that had overtaken him.

Goaded on by the wonderful sound of his brothers pain, Sandor wrapped his fingers around Gregors head, his thumbs bearing down upon his eyeballs until a disgusting mixture of blood and juices began to run down his sunken fingers, his efforts earning him a shrill scream of agony from his newly blinded brother. Like any rational person, Gregor wisely took flight over fight, his fingers releasing their death grip upon Sandors throat in favor of clutching at his bleeding eyes, Sandors fingers slipping out of the bloodied sockets with a sickening slurp.

Greedily Sandor gasped for breath, his vision returning to him in a blurry world of smudged colors and flecks of black, the doubled over form of his brother rousing a grin across his pale face.

"My eyes! My fucking eyes!" With one hand pressed to his empty eye sockets and the other sliding across the ground, Gregor furiously tried to locate his missing sword, the abandoned blade sitting several feet away from their downed forms, far out of his searching range. Drawing back his foot, Sandor delivered a sharp kick to his brothers side, a thrilled hiss rattling from between his clenched teeth as the giant of a man came crashing down upon his stomach, chin bouncing off the ground and teeth clicking sharply together.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen!" With his body weighed down by exhaustion, Sandor clamored to his feet at an agonizingly slow pace, the world spinning before his eyes as he finally came to rest upon his feet, the taste of bile biting at the back of his tongue. With a stride that did honor to a newborn baby foal, Sandor wobbled forward, coming to stand behind his brothers grounded form, the unseeing warrior attempting to lift himself upon his hands and knees with little success.

"I always did wonder how I would eventually kill you… and really..." Grinning ghastly, Sandor delivered a harsh kick to the back of his brothers legs, the cry of mild pain quickly vanishing beneath a rising spew of bloodied screams, the fiery blaze of the forgotten bonfire lapping at his face and upper body, the well delivered kick having sent him sprawling into the unforgiving inferno. The putrid smell of burnt hair and melted flesh wafted across the clearing, momentarily reminding Sandor of burnt venison.. though a bit more 'gamey'.

"And really," Sandor started up again, stepping forward to plant a single foot into his brothers back, trapping him in the fiery hell that had waited so long to meet him. "To think that it would be fire that killed you… How twisted is that?" Gregors screams began to taper off until they was nothing more than a low agonizing groan, his thrashing body becoming deathly still until all that remained was the occasional twitch, muscles involuntarily spasming as the molten heat began to eat away at his shoulder blades, turning the once bronzed flesh a sickly black.

"Lets see them write this into a song…" He ground his heel into Gregor's back, savoring the silence that his action earned.

No whimper of pain, or sharp cry of agony. Only silence. After All, what use would complaining do for the dead?


End file.
